


Drunken Storytelling Time

by moonbelowsea



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, M/M, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbelowsea/pseuds/moonbelowsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has all sorts of stories to tell, but some of them only come out when he's too drunk to realize what a bad idea it is to tell them.</p><p>Like that one time he slept with an assassin. That had been paid to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Storytelling Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short exercise, and also unbetaed. I'll be delighted at any feedback.
> 
> Please pay heed to the warnings before reading the fic, and if you think I missed a tag, kindly let me know.

Oh man, you really wouldn’t believe the stories I have to tell. Especially the sex stories. The sex stories are a doozy, hah.

Oh, you don’t believe me. That’s fine, that’s alright. I do have plenty of them to tell though.

Like that one time I fucked an assassin. I mean, I might’ve done it before, but that’s the first time I knew and prolly the first time it happened too, or I’m even better at the sex thing than I ever thought I was. And ya know, I woke up thinking I’d imagined the whole thing, so I went looking? Stupid. But I got a yes, guy’d been a pro killer, alright.

Oh, ooooooooooooh, naw, I didn’t fuck him _because_ he was assassin. I mean, I did, but not like _that_. I mean, guy was trying to kill me. Well, probably, anyway.

Hey, hey, what’s that face for? It’s a funny face, but I don’t like you making it.

Y’know what, I’ll just tell you the story. More or less, anyway. Might be too drunk to tell it properly right now, but you’re yelling and making faces and it’s easier to try and tell you everything, might slow you down.

Okay, so, so the story starts when I was about nineteen and stupid and drunk and partying. And there was this guy, y’know, a guy, and he kept looking at me and every time I looked at him he was looking at me even when he wasn’t, and it was weird, right, but not too much cuz I’m rich and I’m pretty and I always have a lot of people looking at me. But not like _that_ , but sometimes like that, but when it’s like that it’s not cause they’re off the job. Bodyguards look at me like that, right? And other people, too, when I’m not a person but a, a target.

Well, anyway. I’d had a lot of people who looked at me like that trying to fuck me lately, cuz I’d been making some real nice shit for Stark Industries and that whole clusterfuck that went down with Sunset made me look easy or something.

Wha, Sunset? Yeah, she was the first one to fuck me so she could steal my shit. She was, she was… The fuck, I’m not talking about her.

She taught me a _real_ good lesson though. Even if I shouldn’t have needed her to teach me that. After all, I’ve always known that the people who should love me don’t.

Also, sex is a weapon. That was also good to learn.

It was really good on that one night, cuz this guy, after a while he starts talking to me, right, and he starts hitting on me, and he starts trying to get me alone, right, and I’m drunk stupid but I wasn’t in the mood for sex that night, but eventually I need to go do something, I don’t even remember what, get the phone or go piss or something, and then this guy and I, we’re alone in a room.

I don’t even know how the fuck I noticed. I wasn’t in the mood for sex so I joked around with him and he’s trying to get me further into the mansion, right, it was one of those wasteful big places, and I _know_ he wants into my pants so I’m like patting him in the back and he’s got a gun in his pants.

Talk about packing.

Must’ve been the drink. It didn’t make me stupid like it makes most people. Or, well, it did make me stupid, it still does, but not that much slower, or… or something? Cause I didn’t pat him again to confirm or pause or anything, but right now I know he isn’t trying to steal from me or get me to tell him anything. This guy, he wants to kill me.

And I can’t scream and I can’t try to go back to people, cuz he’s already got me alone, he just wants to go somewhere they won’t find the body so quick. Or maybe make less noise, fuck if I can tell.

And maybe it was because I’d thought he wanted a screw before, or maybe it’s because I’m a huge slut, but I think, hey!, who’d say no to a good fuck? I mean, it gives me time, yeah? And so I start putting the moves on him, but not, like, flirting, cuz I’d already _not_ done that, and I just start, like, touching him.

Because sex is a weapon and I did know some tricks even back then.

And they've gotta have been  _good_ tricks already since I managed to get him pretty damn hot and bothered, and then it was just a matter of convincing him that just a little fuck wouldn't make that much of a difference, yeah?

It was pretty much the worst test of my life. If you fail you die. But I kept telling myself, only gotta keep him interested for a little more. Gotta keep him on the edge, if he blows his load he won’t care to keep you around. Gotta give him the time of his life.

And you know, eventually he did come. Hours afterwards, I guess, and I must have given him one heck of a workout, cuz he fell asleep.

It was hella hard to get outta the bed – yeah, at one point we must’ve moved to a bed, can’t even remember – and then I got the hell out and away and didn’t tell anybody.

And the next day, after I'm done with the worst of the hangover and my memory starts coming back properly, well, I couldn’t believe I’d really felt a gun. So I do some researching, and a month later or so, it turns out the guy was a pro killer after all. And he’d really been after me.

Aaaaaaaaand that’s the story of how I saved my own life with the power of my dick.

…Hey, what’s with the face? C’mon, don’t make that face.


End file.
